


Psych 101

by RainyForecast



Series: Gen Ed Requirements [1]
Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow series - Gemma T. Leslie
Genre: AND THEY LIVED HAPPILY OK, Baz thinks about his life choices, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, I feel a little better now, I was so emotional about the book this happened, Kinda, M/M, SnowBaz, cathartic little fix-it fic, so happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-08
Updated: 2015-10-08
Packaged: 2018-04-25 10:18:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4956514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainyForecast/pseuds/RainyForecast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Baz begins the path towards not being a dick. </p><p>Beta'd at an unholy hour of the night by the amazing rhien.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Psych 101

Baz hadn’t put much thought into registering for the psychology class. It was a requirement; a supposedly easy high mark. Mildly interesting in passing.

 

He hadn’t expected to be sitting here, a tremor starting in his hands, staring at the puce-colored sidebar that abutted the chapter on child developmental psychology.

 

“Recognizing Child Abuse and Neglect,” it was titled, but Baz wasn’t seeing the words anymore. He was seeing Simon at 11, staring at a heavily-laden Watford table as if he was witnessing a Visitation. Simon at 13, squirreling away food in a drawer, something Baz had derided him for. Simon at 16, flinching out from under a hand raised to cheerfully clap him on the shoulder. Simon, now, at 20, still bolting down every meal, his arm curled around his plate as though prepared for someone trying to snatch it away.

 

Baz was on his feet, shoving his belongings into his leather messenger bag before he was quite aware of making the decision to stand at all. “Excuse me, are you leaving us, Mr. Pitch?” The instructor has never sounded so nasal or insufferable.

 

“Family emergency,” Baz threw curtly over his shoulder, letting the lecture hall doors slam closed behind him.

 

He’d taken the Aston Martin today, and for the first time, he was furious with himself for it. The Tube was sheer and utter torment, but this traffic was making his fangs tear into the inside of his cheeks, and he was fairly certain the steering wheel wouldn't ever be quite the same.

 

Eons passed before he parked shoddily in front of Simon and Penelope’s building. He was probably going to receive a massive citation, but he had never cared much about that sort of thing at the best of times.

 

There were just enough people about that he had to moderate his speed, and the four flights of stairs had never seemed longer. Why had they decided on this stupid arrangement anyway? Some idiocy about needing some time where they weren’t roommates. Ridiculous. He wasn’t sleeping for shite anyway, between the nightmares and the lack of Simon’s regular breathing across the room (or, preferably, on the next pillow).

 

He paused outside the door, paralyzed for a moment, headlong rush aborted. The sick, dark feeling that had risen into the back of his throat the instant he’d read that bit in his textbook felt like it was choking him now. Guilt, maybe, guilt and shame at what he’d done to Simon for years, before. The things Simon did that he’d sneered at. Objectively, Baz  knew he’d been young, and stupid, and confused, but knowing that didn’t lessen the sensation of drowning.

 

He listened. He still wasn’t quite sure what his emotions were doing, and he didn’t feel like an audience. Quiet. Turning pages. The squeak of a highlighter. The regular thud of a heartbeat-- Simon’s. Penelope seemed to be out. Letting out a shuddery breath, he slid his key into the lock and quietly slipped in.

 

Simon was sitting cross-legged on the sofa, textbook in his lap, papers fanned out around him. His headphones were in, and the tinny sounds of Years & Years seemed loud in the quiet room. 3 o’clock sunlight poured over Simon’s head like a benediction, gilding his hair, catching on his eyelashes. Baz was suddenly terrified anew at how much he loved him.

 

The clock on the bookshelf ticked five times before Simon seemed to sense Baz was there. His hands stilled on the book, and his eyes flicked up.

“Baz?” He blinked slowly. “How long have you been standing there?”

Baz found he couldn’t answer. The dark pulse of guilt and anger and whatever else still filled his throat. But he found he could move. He let his bag drop to the floor, and was across the room in two strides. His kiss “hello” was bruising, and he let himself sink to the couch next to Simon, scattering papers, kicking off his shoes.

“Baz?” Simon’s puzzlement had increased but Baz merely folded himself into his boyfriend. Not an easy feat with the height difference and the awkwardness of their arrangement on the sofa. Bax ended up with his head in Simon’s lap, arms curled around him and face buried in Simon’s middle.

 

Simon ran his fingers through Baz’s hair, soothingly. “Baz. What’s wrong.”

It was less a question than a command. Baz managed a low “Nothing, Snow” even though other, softer names crowded against his lips.

  
_He’s here now._ Baz thought. _He’s here, and he’s alive, and I will see him happy._ I will. He’d burn the world to make it so. 

**Author's Note:**

> You're lovely, and I'm creaturesofnarrative on Tumblr.


End file.
